


Moments with you

by fandammit



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Kabby Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 11:28:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7266304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandammit/pseuds/fandammit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world shifts around him - but for an entirely different reason, now. </p>
<p>She speaks of hope with a quiet determination in her eyes, but there is only one, loud, overwhelming word echoing back in the chambers of his mind - </p>
<p>Love. <br/>----------------<br/>Marcus's POV during moments in season 3. Written for Kabby Week on Tumblr - Favorite Season, Episode, or Scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moments with you

The room is his, in theory. 

His clothes are in the dresser, the sheets on the bed smell like him. His books litter the desk in the corner, the map in before him is scrawled with his handwriting. 

And yet - 

There - a book face down on a side table, place marked for when Abby will pick it up again. By his sink, a tea cup with shriveled leaves - evidence of her last visit. 

Even now, he catches a glimpse of her through the clear glass of the board he’s marking up - the datapad in her lap, forgotten; her head tipped to the side, eyes closed in sleep. 

He lets himself take one moment to unfocus from the map in front of him, studies the lines of her weary posture instead. Though he knows the position is uncomfortable, there’s something about the peaceful expression on her face that makes him feel content. 

The room may be assigned to him, but somehow, it belongs to both of them, now. 

He throws out the suggestion of another search party - though it’s one he hates to make. There’s something in his heart that aches to see the look on Abby’s face every time one returns without even word of Clarke. 

But the defeated slump of Abby’s shoulders is something that hurts worse, so he’s long resolved to do whatever he can to find Clarke. 

She looks up at him, half gentle, half grateful - but shakes her head anyway. 

Her gaze slides back to him after a moment and he feels himself suddenly struck by her nearness, their intimacy. 

A thought - offhand and insistent - rings in his mind: 

He wants to kiss her. 

Can’t help but flick his eyes down at her lips and - 

Forces himself away from them and trains his eyes on Miller in the doorway, instead. 

Even when she leaves, he finds the thought rising to the forefront of his mind. He tries to drown it out, but finds that it lingers despite his best efforts. 

He finds he doesn’t actually mind it.

* * *

 

He’s irritated with her in a way that he knows isn’t novel, but feels unfamiliar, now. 

So he glares at the guards, snaps at a medic on the crew. 

Hisses at her when she makes note of it. 

He feels his temper break. That, too, is nothing novel. Only now he regrets it the moment the words leave his mouth. When he sees her eyes cast down, watches as lines of fear drape themselves over her shoulders. 

He apologizes, honestly, pushing every note of sincerity into the words. Makes promises he isn’t sure he’ll be able to keep but means with every part of him. Reaches out to reassure her with a press of his hand. 

She covers his hand with her own; the tender warmth of it matched by the softness her eyes. 

He almost takes her hand in his. Wants desperately to thread his rough fingers through her gracefully tapered ones. 

He decides against it at the last moment - but only  _ just _ . 

* * *

Everything in his life feels like it’s spinning out of control.

He knows Bellamy is slipping through his fingers. Sees Pike’s zealousness taking a hold of the camp. Feels despair at the danger he sends children into with eyes wide open. 

He comes to her and sits down heavily, tries to find stability in a world that’s swung off its axis. Part of him feels as though the ground beneath him is opening up, threatening to swallow him up and - 

Everything stills. 

He registers her hands along his jawline, the brush of her lips against his cheek, the warmth of her breath lingering by his ears. 

The world shifts around him - but for an entirely different reason, now. 

She speaks of hope with a quiet determination in her eyes, but there is only one, loud, overwhelming word echoing back in the chambers of his mind - 

Love. 

* * *

He enters the room, hands and feet tied, and can only think of the anguish written clearly on her face.

She makes promises she can’t possibly keep. Fights for him - even here, even now. Even when his every thought is to keep her from fighting for him, so that she can stay alive and stay safe. 

It fills his heart and breaks it, too. Because he knows he cannot have it all. 

He loves her. 

And - 

He must beg for her to keep away. 

* * *

“I can’t do this again.”

The words are torn from her, her face crumpling as they hang in the air between them. 

He can feel his resolve weakening at the weight of them, at the meaning that drips from every syllable. He forgets about being strong. He forgets about what’s best for her. He forgets about everything that isn’t her hands in his hair, her forehead resting on his, her breath mingling with his own. 

He lets himself get lost in the what ifs and what might have been. He lets himself fall into his love for her, completely. 

He drags himself out of it a moment later - a moment too soon - when she begins to tip her head up towards his. He breathes heavily, lets go of a world that could have been. Lifts his lead heavy hands and backs away from her. Feels his chest collapse with the weight of all he isn’t saying. 

He loves her.

Yet - 

He knows that he cannot keep her. 

* * *

The moment he turns around, he can see it in her eyes:

She’s not coming with them. 

_ With him.  _

He thinks he might already know why, even before she says it and confirms that he was right - 

She’s not coming because she’s ridiculously courageous and unfailingly loyal and so breathtakingly strong. 

He knows he can’t convince her to leave, so he does the one thing he can - 

He grabs her and pours his love into her; hopes she can feel it in the strength of his kiss alone. 

He does not say it, but he thinks it, over and over again - as he presses closer to her, glides his tongue against hers, threads his fingers through her hair. He focuses on the relief of a weight lifted instead of the burden of goodbye. 

He loves her. 

But - 

He has to leave her, anyway. 


End file.
